“Ms. Scott.” She extended her hand, and Miller took it.
Astoria’s palm was cool and dry, her grip firm. A professional courtesy, nothing more. Except it lasted a beat too long, and Miller couldn’t tell which of them had held on.
When they released, Astoria’s expression was the same unreadable expression she’d had all afternoon.
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other,” she said, and Miller could hear the unspoken threat,I see you; I’ll be ready.
“I’m sure we will,” Miller replied, and her voice came out steadier than she felt.
Astoria turned and walked out, Gerald at her heels, leaving Miller standing in that expensive conference room wondering why her pulse was still elevated, even after the adrenaline from negotiation should’ve worn off.
Miller took her time gathering her belongings.
Rachel had already left with Valerie, the two of them deep in conversation about next steps and documentation and all the practical matters that came after a mediation went nowhere. Miller had begged off, claiming she wanted to review her notes while they were fresh. Rachel had given her a long look but hadn't pushed.
Now, Miller stood alone in the conference room, sliding papers into her folder with more attention than the task required. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the harbor had gone silver in the late afternoon light, boats bobbing in their slips, the water flat and colorless under an overcast sky.
She wasn’t sure why she was stalling. The mediation was over, and they’d move to litigation, which meant months of depositions and motions and court dates stretching into summer, if not later. She should be thinking about strategy and those mismatched documents and which questions to ask Valerie when they meet again.
But her mind kept replaying Astoria Shepry’s voice and the way it’d dropped when she said her name.
Miller shook her head and packed the last of her things. She was tired. It’d been a long day with high stakes against an opponent who’d proven harder to read than expected. She’d go home, pour a glass of wine, and stop thinking about those gray-blue eyes.
The hallway was empty when she stepped out, her heels muffled by the plush carpet that probably cost more per square foot than her apartment’s rent. She made her way to the elevator and pressed the button, then heard footsteps behind her.
She knew who it was before she turned. Something about the rhythm of those footsteps, unhurried but purposeful.
Astoria Shepry came to a stop a few feet away, her attention fixed on the elevator doors as if Miller weren't there at all.
Miller considered the stairs. Twenty-four floors was a lot, but it would spare her the next sixty seconds of whatever this was going to be. She could claim she needed the exercise, that she always took the stairs, that?—
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.
Astoria stepped in first, and Miller followed because taking the stairs now would look like exactly what it was: avoidance.
The doors slid closed behind her, sealing them into a space that felt considerably smaller than it had any right to be. Miller positioned herself on the opposite side, eyes fixed on the descending numbers above the door. Twenty-four floors to the lobby. She could manage twenty-four floors.
Astoria stood with her hands clasped in front of her, posture as impeccable as it’d been in the conference room. She didn't acknowledge Miller beyond a slight shift in her stance, a recalibration of her awareness to account for the new presence in the confined space.
The elevator hummed its way downward. Eighteen…seventeen…sixteen…
Miller became aware, against her will, of small details she hadn't noticed in the conference room: the sharp scent of Astoria's perfume, the way Astoria’s breathing was so controlled it was almost inaudible, the fine grain of her charcoal suit jacket that was visible now that Miller was close enough to see the texture.
She fixed her gaze on the doors and counted floors.
Twelve…eleven…ten…
In the polished metal of the elevator doors, she could see their reflections, distorted and strange. Two women standing as far apart as the space allowed, neither looking at the other. Except when Miller glanced at Astoria’s reflection, Astoria was already looking at hers.
Their eyes met in the warped metal, held for half a second, and then both of them looked away.
Eight…seven…six…
Miller’s pulse had picked up again, that same low thrum she'd felt when their handshake had lasted a beat too long. She told herself it was the residual tension of the mediation and the strangeness of being trapped in a small space with someone she'd spent the afternoon opposing. Anyone would feel unsettled. It didn't mean anything.
Four…three…two…
The elevator settled with a soft chime, and the doors parted onto the marble lobby. Astoria stepped out first, her stride long and relaxed, and Miller followed a few paces behind.
